She was with them. Not sidelined. Part of this. And Lincoln stayed close to her, his presence steady at her shoulder.
The building’s interior matched the schematics. Concrete floors stained with decades of industrial use. Support columns rising toward a ceiling lost in shadow. Debris scattered in corners—broken pallets, rusted equipment, the detritus of a business that had died years ago.
Empty. Quiet.
Morgan tried to focus on what she could control.Watching. Remembering. Being useful. Her nervous system didn’t care about control—it kept insisting this place was like the warehouse Randall had kept her in. Like the box, like darkness pressing in from every direction.
This place wasn’t the same. But her body refused to believe that. She breathed through it. Counted her steps. Let the rhythm of movement keep her grounded.
“Clear,” Bear’s voice came through the comms. “Moving to secondary position.”
“Copy,” Lincoln responded. His hand touched the small of her back—brief, reassuring. “Stay close.”
They were early. Ahead of the supposed client meeting by nearly an hour. The plan was simple: get into position before Randall arrived with his skeleton crew, catch him exposed and outnumbered on ground he thought was safe.
Morgan scanned the space as they moved deeper. Nothing seemed wrong. The dust on the floor showed no recent disturbance. The air smelled stale, musty. Every detail confirmed Lincoln’s intel.
That was what bothered her.
She couldn’t point to a specific variable that didn’t compute. But Lincoln’s predictions had been right about everything—the location, the layout, the complete absence of any sign that Randall used this place regularly. It all fit together like puzzle pieces that had been cut to match.
“Something wrong?” Lincoln’s voice was low, meant only for her.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”
“Your instincts matter. If something feels off?—”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Nothing I can point to.”
Lincoln studied her for a moment. Then he nodded,accepting her assessment without dismissing it. “We proceed carefully. Eyes open.”
They moved into position. Bear and Derek took flanking spots near the main entrance where Randall would arrive. Lincoln guided Morgan to a shadowed alcove with clear sight lines to the meeting area—close enough to observe, protected enough to stay safe if anything went sideways.
This was where she would be staying, ready to offer info if she saw or heard anything that triggered a memory, but out of the way enough to let the guys do what they needed to do.
“Team check,” Lincoln said quietly into his comms.
“Primary position, good to go.” Bear.
“Secondary, holding.” Theo.
“All clear on north.” Callum.
Everything in place. Everything according to plan.
The minutes stretched. Morgan’s fingers found the familiar rhythm against her thigh, and the words slipped out before she could stop them—barely a whisper, almost subvocal. “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul…”
Lincoln’s head turned. He didn’t tell her to be quiet. Didn’t remind her to stay focused. Just walked over and kissed her on the forehead.
“It’s going to be okay.” He squeezed her hand and let go. “I’m moving to my main position. Stay here. Let us know if you see or think of anything we need to know.”
She nodded. Watched him cross the open space toward where Bear and Derek held the primary entrance, his silhouette swallowed by shadows until she could barely make him out. Twenty feet away. Maybe twenty-five.
The building settled around them, small sounds magnifiedby silence. A creak of old metal. The whisper of wind through gaps in the boards.
Nothing else. No approaching footsteps. No vehicles outside.
“And sings the tune without the words…” She spoke even softer now. Just for herself. She focused on the words, the rhythm of them, as the guys did another update a few moments later.
